


equal to gods, that man

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cock Cages, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, dilfs in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: It’s no sin, he knows. Not to kneel, to bind, to beg for Jeralt, not to be his in this way.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	equal to gods, that man

**Author's Note:**

> jeralt is trans because i damn well said so! i use masc-coded language for his situation in this, i hope that's comfortable for you!

The wearying of knees against the rough floorboards of Jeralt’s room, the serpentine spread of jaw between his thighs—these are the least of Seteth’s aches. They become a sort of backdrop, fading like the setting sun in with the rush of Jeralt’s blood, the calloused fingers stroking behind his ear; they are not everything.

 _Everything_ is—oh, at the locus point of him, his cock caught up in ruthless steel, three days deep and throbbing. He whimpers with it, muffles a full-throated cry in the soft-slick space of Jeralt’s folds.

Is rewarded for his earnest: Jeralt pets him, curls thick fingers in his hair, tells him in that roguish rasp he’s doing well, doing _perfect,_ that he’s not got much to go.

Seteth wants to cry with it—the reassurance, the _sound,_ the firmness in Jeralt’s touches, in his voice when he calls him _sweetheart._ Perhaps he does—he already stings so deeply, it’d be impossible to tell.

“Not long now,“ Jeralt echoes, fingertips massaging the kink in his neck. Seteth shivers; Jeralt’s palm is so broad, it shields him so completely. He’s closed in, now, surrounded from all sides by his heat, his rough skin, the gentle earthen scent of him--if Seteth’s body had its will he’d have spilt himself already, just kneeling with his head between these thighs.

Just suckling at this cock, the little burl of it between his lips, twitching. He laves it, adores it with his tongue, does not wonder what a sin it is that he can do this.

It’s no sin, he knows. Not to kneel, to bind, to beg for Jeralt, not to be his in this way.

Seteth puts himself to it with all the dogged focus he would anything, kissing Jeralt deep, leveraging all his own ache into relieving Jeralt’s until--

\--Until he’s clenching, clutching, holding him crushingly close as he gives over, as he shudders and spasms and shouts, calls Seteth _baby_ and _good boy_ and _darlin’._

And when Jeralt pulls him back, he’s glowing, red-faced and dim-eyed and slick, jaw slack, the hurt in him a thrumming, evident, alive thing--Jeralt dabs his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, murmurs _pretty._

“So pretty,” he rumbles, “Set, so good. And all mine, huh?” His workingman’s fingerpads rasp over Seteth’s swollen lips, slipping inside so he can suck on his two fingers, let them pet over his tongue.

There’s no responding, not with the fill in his mouth, not with the haze in his head, but Seteth knows that Jeralt understands. That he must, from the way he looks down at him, like he’s watching the green leap of an aurora.

In the next breath he’s gathering him up, holding him safe in the warm space of his lap, balanced easy on broad thighs. There are so few things that make Seteth feel small, but Jeralt is one of them, will always be one of them, and the constriction of the cage--only amplifies it, makes it sweeter, runs it in deep.

“That’s right,” Jeralt says, “there you go.” One hand holds him at the hip, cradling; the other strokes all soft-firm down his chest, over thick hair and sweat-slicked skin.

“P-please,” Seteth whispers, voice thick in the back of his throat, because Jeralt’s stopped, wet fingertips just worrying at the space above the cage, the skin that’s gone tender just with its proximity. “Jeralt.”

A smile, then, pressed into the mussed hair at the crown of Seteth’s head. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.” That hand draws away, reaches under Jeralt’s collar for the key.

“Did you like it, Set? You were so good the whole three days, baby, did you like me keeping you honest?” Seteth can’t escape the thought of it--of Jeralt’s hand on the small of his back, whenever they had a spare moment. Jeralt’s lips on the rings of the cage, fingers petting drum-tight balls. Asking him if he’d be good, if he could make it.

The words for _yes,_ for _oh Jeralt love please yes_ won’t come. Seteth only nods instead, a small and shaky thing while the skin-warmed key slips across his skin, down the tight twitching muscle of his abdomen, down to clink against the cage.

He can’t help a cry at that, can’t help but turn to muffle it in the heat of Jeralt’s chest, the steady vital thrumming of his heart. Can’t help but sniffle at the little kiss it earns him, the way Jeralt holds him close.

Can’t help frankly _wailing,_ when he hears the little lock-sound, distinct amid the crackling of the fire. When Jeralt eases the cage away, gently, careful so as not to hurt him.

Jeralt would never hurt him, Seteth knows. Not in any way he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared to plead for.

He is prepared to plead that second, as Jeralt reaches off to set the cage aside, as he hums into Seteth’s hair. As Seteth’s growing hard, thickening as quickly, as _painfully_ as ever he has, until his toes curl tight, until his fingers twist in Jeralt’s shirtfront and he keens.

If it’s words he’s saying, they are doubtless Jeralt’s name, doubtless _hold me,_ doubtless _please._

Jeralt’s not a cruel man; he won’t make him wait any longer. It’s only a blink before his calloused palm is back, laying down easy to cup Seteth’s cock, to pet at him gently, gently. Only a blink before Seteth is sobbing into the holloway of Jeralt’s neck, wide-mouthed and gasping; only a blink until he spends with a force like haywire magic, spasming with everything he is.

In the ragged breaths after, Jeralt holds him. Close, as near as Seteth’s ever been to anyone, secure and warm despite his nakedness. Whispers to him, calls him _precious_ and _sweetheart_ and _Set,_ calls him _good, good boy._

Seteth only shakes, only cleaves to him, only cries. Aches, still, dull and sharp and throbbing all at once.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Jeralt murmurs, curling careful fingers where they’re needed. “I’ve got you, I’m with you, and we’re not finished yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey!! it's been a while since i wrote for fire emblem, but honestly nothing could stop me from coming back once in a while! i simply love the dilves too much.
> 
> title is from sappho 31, trans. anne carson. please read if not, winter it is literally my favorite book in existence
> 
> anyway tell me what you thought of this, and let me know if you'd like to see more! i absolutely have anime chess dads brainrot and i cannot be stopped. 
> 
> much love!  
> -mye
> 
> ps: come hang out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you want! <3


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